Years Later
by Kiri
Summary: Meryl goes to visit Vash briefly a while after their encounter. I hate summaries. x.x


Years Later 

**Years Later**

It was many years later, after everything was over, that she came to him, suns blazing a scar through the sky. 

He could hardly remember how they had gotten to this point. Their letters to each other had traced through time, inking through events with a kind of dim acceptance of fate. Her letters had been detailed, her life, her work, her marriage, and the subsequent birth of her son. His had been terse, informative, brief, and unemotional. 

She stood in front of him for the first time in years– or had it been barely a moment since she had left? – as she always had, a foot or so below his own eye level, on his porch. She was smiling, that kind, gentle smile she had always had when she was serious, but time had aged it like fine wine. Her face was tempered now, firmer and stronger and more knowing. He felt like a child. 

"It's been a long time," she murmured, raising her eyes to him, grey, like dusty moonlight. 

He nodded slowly. "So it has." 

"I wanted you to meet my son while we had the stopover in this town." Hesitant, reaching. A small blond head was buried in his mother's skirt that she wore much longer since the last time he had seen her. Mute grey eyes dared a peek every now and then. "We're not here for long, you know… I mean, I wish that we could–" 

"Don't trouble yourself. Give my regards to Milly." He gave her a half-smile now, vague, and bent down to the child. "Hey, there. How are you?" 

The small grey orbs that had braved watching him descend to the boy's own eye level disappeared into the skirt again. 

She gave him a helpless smile, then bent down as well. "Honey, this is the nice man I told you about. The one I traveled around the world with when I was younger." 

"With Aunt Milly?" he asked, still apprehensive, and casting wary glances at the man. 

"Yes, with your Aunt Milly." She smiled at him again, warmer now. "Remember all the cool stories I told you about when I had my adventures?" Encouraging. "Well, this is him." 

Incredulous grey eyes turned back to him, wide. "You were the guy who shot that big giant? With the six bullets?" 

He cast her an amused look, but was surprised to find a hint of sadness in her eyes. He quickly turned back to the child. "Well… that was when I was a bit younger… It was actually your mother who got me into most of the trouble." 

"I did not!" she exclaimed indignantly with more than a hint of her old manner, but then grinned. "Whatever he says to you, honey, it isn't true." 

The boy blinked, then smiled at the older man. "You can teach me to shoot a gun when I grow up, okay?" He then tugged at his mother. "Mom, gimme my gun. I wanna show him. You gotta watch!" 

Almost reluctantly, she pulled a small toy gun out of her purse and handed it to him. Immediately, all shyness forgotten, he started aiming it at invisible bad guys, making shooting noises, running around the porch and up and down the stairs, dodging nonexistent bullets. She watched him wistfully for a moment and then stood up. 

He followed her lead and arose as well. 

Her eyes were on her son. "Carl and I don't really want him to learn how to use a gun. We want it to be a safe enough place so that he'll never have to use one. But we also want him to be safe…" 

"I understand," he murmured. "It's a noble sentiment." 

She watched the boy a moment more, then turned to him, meeting his eyes again. "You've been… well?" 

"As well as expected. His suicide took me by surprise." A frown creased his forehead. "I've had time to get over it, but it still hurts." 

She nodded slowly, looking concerned, but unsure what to say. She really hadn't changed that much then. 

He opened his mouth to kill the awkward silence, but she interrupted. "We really do miss you. Visit sometime, all right? Milly wants to come, but the children at the orphanage demand so much of her time." A ghostly smiled passed over her lips. "She would love to see you." 

He tried to smile back. "I've gotten all of her letters. She sounds happy." 

"Yes, she is, mostly. She still misses him." 

He shifted his weight slightly. "I know." 

There was another idle moment, punctuated by the explosions of sound from the little boy, who had sequestered himself in the corner between the porch and the steps, fending off hordes of villains. He cleared his throat. 

"You're working as a farmer here?" she asked, glancing back up to him. 

"As a farmer or a plant engineer. It changes depending on what they need. They just don't let me drive anywhere." He cracked a smile. 

She returned it. "I don't blame them. You caused enough trouble that way." 

"You're still at Bernadelli?" 

"No. I quit when my son was born. I occasionally do some sewing for the ladies of the town, but that's about it." 

He nodded, watching her for a moment, then glanced off to the distance towards the town, where the road ran around the bend. There was a man, tall, lanky, blond, walking towards the house at a nonchalant pace. Their time was limited. 

Suddenly the weight of everything he had missed came crashing down around him. His life had been so much longer than anyone's, but what did he have to show for it? 

"You know," he started, desperation creeping into his tones, "I've always –" 

She knew. 

"You're fifteen years too late, Vash the Stampede," she said, sounding more weary than he had ever heard her. The little boy paused and glanced up at them. She was not meeting his eyes. "I think that's my husband coming up the road." 

He nodded, slowly, wishing denial had a stronger hold on him. "I know." 

The boy, a bit tired of blasting invisible enemies, raised his eyes and spotted his father too. He squealed and started running toward him, kicking up dust with his childish gait. The man held out his arms to the boy and picked him up, spinning him around, and then setting him on his shoulders. The boy chirped happily about his conquests with his toy gun. 

"I should probably go. We don't want to miss the bus. It doesn't come again for a week." She was not meeting his eyes. "There's nothing here, after all." 

"Yes. That would probably be best." He took a deep breath. She seemed rooted to the spot. "I'll come visit Milly soon." 

"She would like that." 

There was a long pause, silence filling the cracks in their ears, cold in the heat of the day. Her husband was busy spinning the boy, who was whooping with delight. 

She took a step toward her family, but his voice stopped her. 

"You never told me what you decided to name your son." 

She turned, aged moonlight meeting his eyes, and smiled faintly. "His name?" She seemed sadly bemused for some reason. Were those wrinkles in the corners of her eyes, or was it just the fall of the light? Her hair might have even held a fringe of white among the black, but that could have been the reflection of the suns. How could he be sure? "I decided to name him Vash." 

And suddenly she was disappearing down the road, murmuring an explanation of some sort, the little boy giggling, her husband replying in a gentle baritone. 

And he was left alone on the porch, suns blazing a scar through the sky.   



End file.
